


Suddenly

by Gem_Gem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Titles, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Slash, M/M, Random & Short, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slash, Who cares about John's girlfriend-not me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4424732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suddenly they were kissing...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suddenly

Suddenly they were kissing, their mouths merging, hot, wet and slow, again and again, noses bumping as they changed the angle and deepened it into something more passionate and wanton. They were straining awkwardly towards one another, shoulders and sides pressed warmly together on the sofa, torsos twisted around faintly. John let out a ragged exhale and the sound was enough to snap him out of it, and he abruptly jerked back, staring wide-eyed at Sherlock, who was mimicking his expression with parted lips and arched eyebrows. They both scrambled backwards and surged to their feet at the same time, shocked and immeasurably mortified.

John gaped, breathing heavily and flushing, and rubbed a hand against his mouth, shaking his head and taking a step backwards, “I…I’m not…this…this was…” he stuttered, unable to form proper, coherent sentences, or even intelligible thoughts. “We…we were just…just…what…what did we just…what was that? No! No…let’s not…let’s not even—I’m going to go and…and forget that ever happened!”

“Right,” Sherlock nodded, shifting his weight constantly and waving a jittery hand. “Yes. Right. Good idea. Me too.”

John nodded in reply shortly and took another step backwards, knocking into the coffee table clumsily, “Yeah…yeah, um, I…I…” John stammered, staring at Sherlock as Sherlock looked back at him. “Yeah…”

Sherlock scratched the back of his head and then glanced around awkwardly before walking off, only getting a few feet away from John before John grabbed him instinctively, turned him around, shoved him up against the nearest wall, and kissed him again, wild and fervent. Sherlock grunted and responded immediately, gripping John’s arms and bending down a little to slot their mouths harder together as John cupped his face and then his neck. They kissed with such hunger that they positively trembled with it, their lips meeting repeatedly in an eager pushing mirrored by the way their bodies pressed close.

John shoved himself away after another moment and covered his mouth with one hand, “…Did you drug me?” he muttered into his palm.

“No,” Sherlock frowned, leaning back against the wall and breathing heavily. 

“What did you do then?” John accused as he took a jerky, forced step back. “You must have done something? We just …just…just…”

Sherlock cleared his throat, self-conscious and apprehensive, but scowled, “I haven’t done anything to you, John.”

“Then what are we doing?” John asked, dropping his hand and gesturing between them. “I…I…really want to kiss you…”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded, swallowing thickly. “I know.”

“I shouldn’t want to kiss you, Sherlock. I’m straight. I’m…I’ve...got a girlfriend—Oh God,” John mumbled in sudden dismay, stepping up to Sherlock tersely. “What have you done?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock answered, glancing down at John’s hand as it slid up his heaving chest, seemingly on its own accord, and then curled around Sherlock’s shirt collar. “John…I…I’ve not done anything. I swear…I…haven’t…”

“What have I done then? What are we—why do I want to…to…” John dragged Sherlock towards him slowly, automatically, and clenched his jaw when Sherlock didn’t fight the pull, “Sherlock…” he said warningly. 

Sherlock looked up into John’s eyes from beneath his lashes and tilted his head with a soft breath to connect their mouths in a gentle and extremely chaste press of lips. John inhaled deeply and then shoved Sherlock up against the wall again with a groan, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss and gripping and groping at Sherlock’s body uncontrollably, his hips bucking into Sherlock’s rough and hard, before he then began grinding himself into the responding hardness in Sherlock’s trousers with abandon, moving to grip Sherlock’s waist firmly.

Sherlock moaned deeply in reaction and rocked with him, first erratically, and then with enthusiastic purpose, his stance changing to cope with the rough rutting from John as he thrust Sherlock up against the wall repeatedly, his hands lifting to yank Sherlock’s shirt open to expose his torso. John ended the kiss to stare at Sherlock’s chest, and then stepped back, covering his face with two unsteady hands. 

“Go away, Sherlock. Just…just go to your room,” John muttered.

“John—”

John dropped his hands and stared at him heatedly, “Go to your room. Now.”

Sherlock took a long, shaky breath, and then stormed from the sitting room without a backwards glance, his hands clutching at his gaping shirt. John watched him go and then twitched and trembled when he realised Sherlock had left the door open as a deliberate invitation. He paced shortly, clenched and unclenched his hands, and then stalked through into Sherlock’s bedroom with an uncontrollable thrumming of desire, slamming the door behind him.

~~~

John stretched as he stirred from sleep, and rolled over into a sea of curls with a surprised snort, blinking widely. Sherlock was lying naked beside him, the pale skin of his shoulders and torso riddled with love bites, and he watched as Sherlock twitched in slumber, murmuring into the pillow sleepily, as he shifted and curled up further onto his side. John stared down at him and then covered his face in guilt and panic, flushing as he recalled following Sherlock into the bedroom and manhandling him over the bed, with their mouths squashed together and his hands sliding over Sherlock’s uncovered skin, tugging and hauling his shirt and trousers apart to reveal more.

John cursed under his breath and looked away when he caught sight of Sherlock’s naked backside from the untidy folds of the bed sheets, remembering how it felt pushed against his pelvis, before he shook the memory aside and slid from the bed as quietly as he could, gathering up his clothes and rushing from the room without a backwards glance. 

John didn’t know what had come over him, what had come over them both. How could he have done that? How could they have ruined their friendship like that? He tried to recall how it had started, why and how they had ended up kissing in the first place, but couldn’t rightly remember; they had been sitting on the sofa after a case, both exhausted but high on adrenaline, laughing and slumping against each other, and John had turned to grin at Sherlock to find Sherlock already smirking at him, and then they were abruptly kissing. John didn’t know who started it; it had almost seemed instantaneous between them. 

John paced in his bedroom and then moved to the bathroom to shower, scrubbing at his skin roughly, washing until his skin was red, and then brushing his teeth and changing into fresh clothes. Afterwards, he sat on his bed and stared into the distance, trying to blank his mind as his heart thundered and his breathing became erratic in horror. John had just cheated on his girlfriend with his best friend, had ruined two relationships in one night; he grimaced and covered his face with both hands, wondering what to do and how to bring up the conversation with them both, because he knew he had to, knew he had to talk to both Sherlock and his current girlfriend about what had happened.

The toilet flushed a few minutes later, and John peered through his fingers as he listened to Sherlock shuffling around in the bathroom, taking a shower himself and then later slowly, but deliberately, walking to stand outside of John’s bedroom door. John could see the shadow of Sherlock’s presence from the gap between the door and the floor, and shook his head as he got up, took several deep breaths, and then opened it to look out at Sherlock.

John took in Sherlock’s blank face and sighed; rubbing his mouth, “Listen—”

“You don’t need to say anything,” Sherlock interjected, voice soft but emotionless. “It was a mistake. It won’t happen again. Let’s forget about it. I’ll…delete it and you can try to pretend it never happened.”

John nodded in response but reached out to grasp Sherlock’s arm when he turned to walk away, “I…I’m sorry…about…leaving you to wake up alone—”

“You didn’t leave the flat,” Sherlock cut over him. “I thought you would, but you didn’t. It’s fine. We’re fine.” Sherlock pulled away from John gradually with a vacant gaze, and John watched him go, spotting several bruises littering Sherlock’s neck where John had bit with a groan, marking him with pleasure as he had pushed into Sherlock’s willing body.

“Sherlock…” John started, his voice incredibly husky, much to his shock and mortification.

“I could do with a coffee,” Sherlock replied, pausing briefly at the top of the stairs and then glancing over his shoulder at him as he continued. “And you have some post. I’ve put it on the desk in the sitting room for you.”

John sighed and swallowed thickly, stepping back into his bedroom with a shudder. What was happening to him? John wasn’t gay, John wasn’t interested in any way whatsoever in blokes, yet he had done what he had done, and had been eager for it and even enjoyed it, and most of all, he wanted it again, in that moment, he wanted to rush over, push up against Sherlock and kiss him. John paced his room once more and covered his mouth with a shaking hand, feeling dizzy and sick with emotion. 

Once John had calmed down he wandered cautiously down the stairs, finding Sherlock at the kitchen table, staring at his clasped hands with his head bowed; he looked up at John fleetingly and then sighed, clenching his jaw.

“Don’t,” Sherlock grunted.

“I need to know if you’re okay,” John insisted as he forced himself to stand on the opposite side of the table instead of close beside him like he desperately wanted to. “What we did was…was…”

“Wrong.”

John huffed and cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck, “I was going to say…rushed…” he muttered, flushing even as he gestured to Sherlock. “I didn’t…hurt you, did I? I don’t know if you were—”

“Stop,” Sherlock interrupted. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine. You made sure I was okay, before we…proceeded.” 

An image of Sherlock panting lustily into the bed, his head and shoulders pressed to the mattress and his hips held aloft by John’s trembling hands, flashed behind his eyes; Sherlock’s naked back had tensed and quivered, blushing pink in arousal as John rocked and rutted into him passionately. 

“Right…right. I know I…yeah, but I just wanted to make sure.” John murmured, looking away from Sherlock when he looked up at him. “So…it was a mistake, yeah? It just happened and…and we’ll never bring it up again.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said quietly, still staring at him when John chanced a glance over. 

John swallowed and gripped the back of the kitchen chair, “So…we’re okay? We’re still—our friendship is still intact?”

“Yes,” Sherlock answered, his eyes still solely on John. “Always.”

John remembered the feel of Sherlock in his hands and found himself moving around the table towards him, “I’m…sorry,” John whispered. “I am. I don’t know what came over me…still don’t. I…we were just sitting there and then we were…”

“I know,” Sherlock sighed, eyeing him and then dipping his head awkwardly with a sudden and uncontrollable blush.

“We…should really talk about it but I…I don’t know what to say,” John continued as he stepped up to Sherlock on the chair and reached for him slowly, staring at his hand as it outstretched with a tremble and carded through Sherlock still-damp hair. “Sherlock…”

Sherlock looked away, closed his eyes a moment when John pushed back his fringe instinctively, and then surged up to his feet, leaning into John to kiss him briefly. John looked at Sherlock’s face up close and then swayed forwards to kiss him back in return quickly with a blush of his own, clearing his throat and pulling his hands away; he was confused and scared and incredibly aroused, and could hardly think straight because of it.

“You left your phone in my room,” Sherlock murmured quietly, staring at something over John’s shoulder and pulling the mobile from his dressing gown pocket. “Your girlfriend text you…”

John guilt twisted sharply in his gut and he looked down, taking the phone after a moment, “Right…must have fallen from my pocket…good thing it’s not…not broken or anything…” John muttered, glancing back at Sherlock when Sherlock leaned away and sat back down at the table. “I should meet with her…break things off.”

Sherlock looked up as if he was surprised and narrowed his eyes, “What?”

“Yeah—been meaning to do it, really. I don’t think we…we click…you know what I mean?” John mumbled.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied after a second. “I hate her. She’s tedious and loud and—”

John laughed shortly, “I get the point, Sherlock.”

Sherlock flashed him a quick but small smile and then looked away, “Would you have broken things off with her if we hadn’t have slept together?”

Hearing it said aloud, what they had done, made John flush with heat, “I…I think so, yeah. There’s no spark there. She’s nice, really…nice, but, um, I just don’t think we’re…right for each other.”

“Especially now,” Sherlock muttered.

John swallowed and frowned deeply, “I…don’t know what last night was…”

Sherlock glanced away and inclined his head, then roughly rubbed his face, “…Yeah.” 

“But…I’d…I think I’d like to do it again,” John tried, lifting his hands nervously when Sherlock looked up at him with a sharp jerk of his eyes. “I mean…not…no, what I mean is—Okay, I obviously don’t know what the hell I mean. Can I start over?”

“No.”

“…No?”

Sherlock shook his head and stood up with a slow smile, “I like what you said. You said it perfectly.”

John huffed but returned the smile and looked up when Sherlock stepped close, “No, I didn’t. I sounded like I right idiot…” he muttered, trembling in apprehension and arousal, scared out of his mind at everything that was happening. 

“Mm,” Sherlock hummed, not exactly disagreeing as his smile twisted into a smirk. “I’d like to do it again too, John. After you’ve broken things off with Hannah—”

“Helena,” John corrected, lifting the phone to his ear slightly. “Now?”

“Now, would be good, yes,” Sherlock nodded, slowly reaching out to touch John’s face and then his other hand, curling his fingers around John’s. “Then you can make me breakfast.”

John laughed with fondness and looked at their linked hands, “Bloody sod.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback fuels me!


End file.
